


And the Clock Strikes One

by orhowfar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Ficlet, Gen, One Shot, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:37:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orhowfar/pseuds/orhowfar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Molly was tempted to throw the clock away from her, now, before she saw, but her eyes dragged to the final hand...”</p><p>Molly Weasley in the aftermath of the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And the Clock Strikes One

*

A few days after the battle, when Molly Weasley returned to the Burrow, she cleaned.

Not just tidied, in her usual fashion—putting things away and dusting and wiping and whatnot—but she _cleaned_. She went through all the drawers and cabinets and wardrobes—even the grandfather clock—and tossed out everything old or broken or dubious as to its use.

She cleared and scrubbed and dusted and wiped until the house was in a more spotless condition than it was before Bill's wedding. Some things—certain things that he had liked, or used, or that reminded her of him—she stored in his bedroom upstairs. Otherwise, it was the one room she didn't touch. She told herself, at that moment, that it was because she wasn't sure if anything would explode had she shifted it; but she knew...

Molly could put it off no longer; there was one thing left to do: one corner in the sitting room that she had avoided and kept meaning to come back to. But as she approached the corner, watching the dust motes drift and flutter in the shafts of golden afternoon sunlight, she wanted almost nothing more than to turn back and ignore that corner forever.

The rounded edge of the clock was just visible under a pile of old newspapers she had shifted hastily when the family was relocated to Auntie Muriel's. She'd forgotten to bring the clock with her, but there it was, lying where she'd left it that day, being seen by nothing but the page of an old _Daily Prophet_.

Molly shifted the newspapers away; they scattered onto the floor. With shaking hands, she picked up the clock.

When she last looked at the clock, each of the nine hands were pointed in the same direction. Now, they spiked out from the apex: Bill was traveling, Charlie at work, Percy at work, Ron and Ginny at the hospital (no doubt visiting patients with Hermione and Harry), herself and Arthur were at home...

George's hand twitched between “home” and “work,” right on the edge of “lost.”

She was tempted to throw the clock away from her, _now_ , before she saw, but her eyes dragged to the final hand, the hand that was solid and still—the hand she really wanted to see...

She trailed her gaze along the hand that bore the inscription _Fred Weasley_. It rested at “home.”

Molly sank into an armchair and wept.

 

*


End file.
